


X

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dubious Consent, Human Trafficking, M/M, Master/Pet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 07:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1257232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Broderick is auctioned off to a man named Mr. Egbert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	X

**Author's Note:**

> this entire fic is super self indulgent and im not even sorry

"You're going to love it here," James spoke, smiling as he watched the road. "You're going to get your own bed, your own blanket, your own food bowl, the whole nine yards."   
  
Broderick, as what he's been told his name was, kept quiet, hunched over and shivering. He'd been bare naked since yesterday morning, when he was put in his cage for the auction. That was just one of the multiple ones he's been in, but this was only the second one he's actually been bid on. He was no longer a virgin, and he wasn't as young as most of the others. Broderick was a bigger specimen, well set in muscle and height, which made him even more unappealing to the auctioning crowd. People usually went for the more petite ones. He figured it was because they were cuter.

"When was the last time you ate, Broderick? You look pale," The dark haired man asked gently, still causing his new property to flinch. Had he really just spoke directly to him? Holy shit. This was new.  
  
"O-Oh, uhm, a few days ago I think, Master," Broderick mumbled quietly, wiggling his toes into the fuzzy, gray carpet of the car. His voice had a bit of wave, already feeling nauseous from talking to him in...normal converse. Usually when he was spoken to directly, it was because he was being scolded or ordered to do something. Not just to ask a simple question, or to make small talk with. "I had a piece of bread this morning though, but it wasn't very filling..." Broderick trailed off, feeling it was time to stop speaking. It felt extremely odd speaking to him like this.

"Oh," James clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "They treat you all so horribly. You're going to be treated with love in my home, Broderick. You're lucky I came and got you when I did. They were going to put you down since you never can get sold. I can't see why though. You seem like a real cutie," He grinned and looked back at the shivering man, both hands remaining on the wheel.

Broderick flinched when he stopped the car, awaiting the cold snow on his feet. He watched his master with wide eyes when he opened the door for him and coaxed him out.

"C'mon now, I'm going to get cold," He said with a loving tone, helping him out. James frowned at the whimper that came from Bro when he stepped into the deep, cold snow. "Let's get inside."

 

* * *

 

"You can go ahead and sit down, I'll have your food ready in a moment," His master spoke as he grabbed a dog bowl from the cabinet. Broderick sat crosslegged on the tile floor, wrapped in a warm blanket, fresh from the dryer. The cool tile was cold against his legs as he warmed up, but he wasn't about to ask for clothes. His own bed? And blanket? This guy was too good to be true. He'd been promised this before. Those on-the-way-home speeches were always hollow promises.

Broderick looked around the nice kitchen, much neater and sanitary that the ones he'd seen before. No bugs, it seemed. No gross smell. Clean. He figured this man would be cleaner and stuff, than the housing he had in the past. Broderick had been born into trafficking. Because of which, he received a very poor education and he didn't know a lot. He was about 25, and he had the mentality of a twelve year old.

The kitchen was painted a light blue color, which Broderick really liked. All the kitchen's he'd seen in the past were dirty white or tan. This was nice, and cozy. There were drawings on the fridge, and they were not very good. Someone little must have done them. It was sweet, he thought, that this man hung up someone little's drawings. Did he have a son? Or a daughter?

He knew, from what he'd seen on television, that parents usually hung up their children's drawings whether they were good or not. They usually weren't, due to the artist's age. But whatever, he thought to himself. He didn't really care if he had a kid. He didn't care about this place, either. He was not about to make himself comfortable.

James placed a food dish full of chopped steak in front of him, the clinging of the metal bowl against the floor making Bro flinch out of thought. "That's all yours, boy. Go ahead and eat up."

Broderick watched the man sit down at the table in the room and open a newspaper before even daring to sniff the steak. He inhaled slowly and raised his eyebrows a bit, the smell amazing. He hadn't smelled something this good in years.

Arms wrapped around the bowl, and on his knees, he ate like an animal. The man's face in the bowl and practically inhaling the food. He didn't even try to stop himself from snorting as he ate, downing the chopped meat in a few measly minutes. He couldn't help himself, he hadn't eaten in a while and it was warm. What he was usually given wasn't warm at all, and usually expired. This...this was fucking glorious.

"Broderick, you're going to make yourself sick," James spoke up, chucking quietly. He gave him a glance from his paper. Bro swallowed what was in his mouth and he nodded, pushing the empty bowl away with his dirty foot. He sat back up and licked his lips, grease all over his cheeks and some on his nose. He wiped his arm against his mouth, some coming off on it. He licked up what was on his equally dirty arm and he sat back against the wall, letting the blanket fall off completely. He was getting hot anyway.

A new problem. He swallowed, a familiar dry, sandpapery sensation forming in his throat. Shit, he had to ask for a drink? He wasn't going to offer one? Ugh, he was probably going to put whatever it was in a doggy dish too. Better than the troughs and shit he's had to share in the past. He decided to speak up, feeling he'd be okay with getting him a drink with how kind he's been so far. "Sir? May I have something to drink...?" Broderick rasped, looking over at him with begging eyes. He was born with no shame.

He watched James glance over at him again and rest the newspaper down onto the table, nodding. "Sure Broderick, I apologize for being rude and not getting you something before," he grinned, standing up and walking to the cabinet. He pulled out another doggy dish as Bro expected and filled it with tap water, humming to himself as he waited for it to fill completely.

"Here you are, boy," he spoke as he set the water-heavy dish down, trading it out for the empty one. Bro ignored his taking of the other bowl as he slurped up the cold water, eyes lowering at the quenching. He was loud with his water as well, not harboring too many manners when it came to eating and drinking.

Leaning up once again, he sighed happily. Fuck, he was full, comfortable, and in an actual clean environment. All he needed now was a good rest, and he'd be the happiest he'd ever been.


End file.
